


Hitting All the Right Spots

by firefright



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, Identity Porn, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: Ric's at one of Bludhaven's premier underground fighting clubs when he meets Slade, the first man ever to challenge and beat him that he can remember. But a fight's not the only thrill Ric's looking for tonight, and when Slade - tall, imposing, and absolutely his type - invites him back to his hotel room for the evening, there's really only one answer he can give.Yes.





	Hitting All the Right Spots

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, here's my entirely predictable response to the current Ric Grayson mess going off in the comics (which, for anyone who doesn't know, is Dick losing his memories after being shot in the head by KGBeast and subsequently deciding to distance himself from the superhero life, as well as go by the name Ric instead), because as always, DC takes potentially interesting plot ideas and runs them in the most boring direction ~~why do you sleep on golden opportunities like this, guys?~~.
> 
> Warnings for non-con by means of concealed past relationships here, because Slade's a jerk that way.

The club is throbbing with the scent of bodies tonight. Hard beats of music pulsing alongside overwhelming waves of male musk and testosterone.

Ric can feel it as soon as he steps inside. The vibrations running up from the floor through his feet, centering in his joints before exploding into buzzing lines along his muscles. There’s danger in the air here tonight, even more than usual, and it doesn’t take him long to discover why.

“Ric!” The ‘owner’ of this particularly seedy little Bludhaven establishment waves him over as soon as he walks in, “There you are! I was hoping you’d come in tonight.”

“I come in every Friday night, Sal,” Ric replies amicably, and it’s true, he does. Ever since the first dizzying, unsettling moments where he found himself here, and after his initial shock, realised that even more importantly, he _liked_ it, he’s come back to this dive over and over again. To the basement underneath the bar, where every week men come to test themselves. Let out all their pent up aggression through illegal, no holds barred, bare-knuckle beatdowns.

“Yeah, but you never know!” Sal grins at him, a gap-toothed smile where someone bigger and meaner had knocked him out years ago, “Got a new guy come in tonight, kid. Real bruiser type. Might even be enough to take you down.”

He raises an eyebrow as he leans on the bar, and Sal slides a glass to him without question, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he’s already beat three of my other regulars and is still going strong.”

“Nothing too permanent, I hope,” Ric says, half-jokingly, while looking down at the other end of the bar with real interest now.

“Only what they signed up for.” Sal chuckles, “So whaddya say, want in?”

“Jeez, let me get a look at the guy first, Sal. I ain’t that stupid.”

Sal winks at him, “Sure thing, kid. Go take a look. And don’t worry about knowing what to look for, I promise you, you’ll know this guy the moment you see him.”

Ric scoffs before swinging back away from the bar, and takes his glass of whisky with him as he moves to push through the crowd to where the fighting pit is. It’s hard work at first, but as some of the hyped-up adrenaline junkies start to recognise him, it soon becomes easier. Sipping at his drink, he makes it to the edge of the fighting pit, and _oh_ , Sal wasn’t kidding when he said Ric would know this guy the moment he saw him. Holy shit.

He’s _huge_. Standing a head above almost everyone else in the room. Ric finds his eyes swiftly riveted, first by the bulge of the man’s muscles — on full display since, like most fighters in the ring, he’s not wearing a shirt, then by every other facet of his appearance.

White hair, but not that old (at least Ric doesn’t think so). A handsome face with a neatly trimmed beard, and, perhaps most striking of all, he only has one eye. The iris is a particularly cold shade of blue, while the other, presumably empty socket, is covered by a perfectly adhered white eyepatch.

Damn, Ric thinks, watching the beads of sweat run down the man’s chest as he takes a sip from a bottle of water, how on earth can he say no to the chance to fight that?

Downing the rest of his whisky, he returns to the bar and slams his empty glass down in front of Sal.

“Okay,” he says, in return to the man’s knowing gaze, “I’m in, sign me up.”

Sal’s grin widens, “Good man.”

No more than ten minutes later, Ric’s hands are wrapped in tape, and he’s removed his own shirt as he steps inside the circle of whooping, hollering men and women. The cheers only grow louder as the woman Sal employs to do the announcements shouts his name, and across the other side of the pit Ric’s new opponent lifts his head, gives him a long look up and down, then smirks at him.

Moving to the centre, they stand in front of each other. The height and breadth of the man — was his name shouted as well? Ric must not have heard it with all the other noise going on — only becomes more clear with proximity. He’s maybe not the heaviest Ric’s ever faced, but there’s something about the way he holds himself that makes him seem even bigger than he is.

It’s intriguing, and finding that he’s already grinning, Ric settles back into a ready stance. One that comes to him almost as naturally as breathing does. He’s more eager than he has been in weeks, waiting for this fight to begin.

And it begins quickly, because as soon as the starting whistle is blown, Ric’s opponent snaps out a fist towards his head.

Ric ducks the blow easily, recognising that first jab for what it is; a test. With a quick sidestep, he avoids the follow up as well, before twisting forward and throwing his own punch at the man’s chin.

He is startlingly quick for someone of his size. Avoiding Ric’s blow easily, before batting his hand aside and lunging in again. This time, Ric isn’t quite quick enough to avoid it, and stumbles back towards the ring of onlookers from the force of a glancing blow to his jaw.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks, tasting blood on his tongue, this guy is something serious, all right. He’s going to need to bring his A game in for this one.

So he does, and as he moves, a strange, queer feeling overtakes him. Not just the buzz of adrenaline in his veins, the flood of endorphins and how his body always sings at the joy of movement, but another, deeper exhilaration. One he eventually recognises as the thrill that comes from meeting an equal; someone who can finally give him a real challenge.

They throw blows at each other in quick succession, and Ric can feel himself grinning throughout. Even when he gets hit, he’s smiling; through the blood and the blossoming bruises, he laughs. And when he cares to notice it, he can see an answering smirk on his opponent’s face as well, signalling that he’s not the only one enjoying this, which is just how Ric likes it. It’s almost like… like they…

… like they…

A hit to Ric’s cheek sends him staggering before he can finish the thought. Then a sweeping kick to his legs knocks him down onto his side, and in the space of a second he finds himself on his stomach with his arms twisted up behind his back. The man is straddling his hips, he realises, his weight close and heavy, and _oh_ , that does absolutely nothing to reduce Ric’s enjoyment. In fact, it maybe makes it even more intense as he tries to twist out from under him and gasps — not just from the pain of his arm being jerked higher — but also from the push of his groin against the hard concrete floor as well.

Getting a semi during a good fight isn’t all that unusual for Ric, but this? This he immediately knows is different. This is more than just the rush of blood through his arteries. It’s _desire._ A real, hot, bone melting need for this not to end. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Ready to give in, kid?” The man leans down to purr in his ear, and god, the deep timbre of his voice, as well as scrape of his beard against his skin, does even more to spread heat throughout Ric’s body.

“Dunno,” he rasps back, “I seem to be doing so well here, after all.”

That wins him a husky chuckle, “Confidence is good, denial on the other hand…” Ric hisses as his shoulders burn from the force holding them, “That’s a little less attractive.”

“You think I’m attractive?” he bites back, almost moaning as weight settles more firmly across his hips.

He feels rather than sees the man grin, this time, “Interesting question. Surrender and maybe I’ll answer it.”

Ric shudders despite himself. He doesn’t want to lose, doesn’t want to admit he can’t get out of this, but well… he _can’t_ get out of this. And even more than he wants to win, he wants to hear the answer to his question. Wants to see what else this man is capable of outside the fighting ring.

“You better,” he replies back, licking his lips for emphasis in a way he knows the man won’t help but see, “I’m taking a hit to my rep here for you.”

Another chuckle, “I’m sure you’ll survive. _Now_ ,” the beard drags across his ear again as the man whispers intimately, “Stop delaying.”

Somehow, he taps down on the reflexive _Yes, sir_ that wants to cross his lips, and completely ignoring the sound of the raging, cheering, crowd, Ric lifts his head up and calls out his surrender.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, he’s pressed back against the wall of the alleyway behind Sal’s bar, with the man’s body pressed between his legs and his teeth biting down at his neck.

“My name’s Ric,” he pants, against thick white hair, “What’s yours?”

“You’re just now asking that?” the stranger laughs, then huskily replies, “Slade.”

“Slade,” Ric repeats, liking the way it tastes on his tongue. He squeezes his thighs closer around Slade’s hips as he grinds against him, “Guess it just didn’t— _mm_ —didn’t seem important before now.”

“Really,” another bite has Ric gasping, “You got strange priorities, kid.”

“So they tell me. And anyway, it’s not like you asked my name either.”

Slade lifts his head up to kiss him, long and hard enough that by the time he draws back Ric is left blinking black spots out of his eyes from the lack of oxygen. Slade’s kisses taste like blood and metal, and god, he likes it. Likes the burn in his lungs, too, that comes about from being near suffocated by his lips.

(Is he really this fucked in the head, he wonders. Was he like it before he got shot, or is it new?)

“I already knew your name,” Slade answers, distracting him from those troubling thoughts, and Ric is slightly alarmed before he continues, “Your fans back in the bar there were crowing it to me all night, hoping you’d show up.”

Of course they were. Ric manages a grin as he gets his breath back, “Hope I was worth the wait then.”

“That remains to be seen. Now then, kid,” Slade nips his jaw as he crushes Ric even further back against the brickwork, “You want it like this, hard and fast in a dirty alley, or shall I take you back to my hotel room and really fuck your brains out?”

Ric swears he almost comes just from hearing those words. The way Slade says them... it’s like raw filth in his ears.

“Can’t I have both?” he replies, fingers clutching deeper into Slade’s shoulders. Upon leaving the bar, he’d put on a form-fitting button up shirt, and Ric wants nothing more than to see it removed again. To see all of Slade naked, which probably won’t happen if they just stay here.

“Greedy boy,” Slade responds, with something almost like fondness as he lifts one hand from where he had it clamped under Ric’s ass to push his thumb against his mouth instead. “No, I think I’ll have you choose just one or the other. Otherwise, maybe I’ll just walk away and leave you here to suffer without me.”

Ric whines, horrified by the very idea. “Would you really do that?”

“Choose and you won’t have to find out.”

Ric swallows hard. He doesn’t know exactly why, but some part of him definitely believes Slade would go through with his threat if he doesn’t do as he’s told. Maybe it’s the aura of confidence and control he carries with him, completely at ease with the situation even as Ric grows steadily more flustered.

“Your hotel,” he blurts out, to that end, then gasps when Slade suddenly pushes his thumb inside his mouth, using it to hold his tongue flat.

“Wise choice,” Slade smirks down at him for a long moment, the look in his single eye dark and intense before he draw back, letting Ric’s feet settle back onto the ground before dragging him forwards. “C’mon, I’ve got a bike. It won’t take us long.”

Ric shivers, running his tongue around his mouth now that it’s free again, and follows without question, ignoring all the numerous little voices in his head that are trying to tell him why this could be a very, very bad idea.

It’s not a bad idea, though. In fact, it’s a very good one, as he holds onto Slade’s waist while they ride a beast of a machine to a nearby hotel. One far more upmarket and fancy than Ric would ever be willing to pay out for.

“You can afford a place like this and you go fighting for money?” he asks, once they’re inside, “Damn.”

“Not for money,” Slade replies, “The thrill. I’m sure you can understand.”

Ric does, more than he wants to express, though he expects he’s more than betrayed himself on that account already.

Walking over to the massive bed that dominates most of the room, Ric turns and drops back down onto it, before crossing his ankles and smiling. “Maybe I do,” he says, “Or maybe I’m out more for a different kind of thrill.”

Slade raises an eyebrow, then smirks slyly as he crosses the room, too, coming to stand just in front of where Ric is sitting. “Aren’t you eager now.” he says, “Sure you’re up for what that means, kid?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“And I’m starting to think I’m damn lucky for it.”

An oddly heavy flush of pleasure runs through Ric at those words, but before he can think on the reason why further, he’s distracted by the touch of strong fingers to his jaw, pulling his face upwards to meet Slade’s mouth in a kiss. Immediately he surges forward to meet it, hands eagerly lifting to grasp onto Slade’s shoulders and tug him down in turn as his mouth opens, gaining the broad sweep of a tongue against his own.

Soon enough, Ric finds himself shoved backwards, until the flat of his back meets the mattress, and Slade looms over him, a heavy weight against his legs.

“Like the view?” he asks, as he watches him.

“Just trying to decide what I’m going to do with you,” Slade answers, “There are so many options, after all.”

“Would’ve thought the ride over here would’ve been more than enough time for you to consider that.”

To that, Slade chuckles, “True enough, I did have some ideas then.” Reaching forward, he swipes his thumb over Ric’s lip, “Especially about this mouth of yours.”

Ric’s cheeks flush red, “Yeah?” he asks, unable to stop himself from swallowing at the mention.

“Yeah. Particularly how much I’d like to fuck it.”

 _Jesus_. Slade certainly doesn’t waste words in saying what he wants. Ric appreciates that. He appreciates it a hell of a lot, actually, and before he can stop himself he’s darting his tongue out to lick the pad of Slade’s thumb. “I think I can handle that.”

“Do you?” Slade asks. “I should warn you, kid, I like to go hard.”

Sliding his hand down from Slade’s shoulder to his wrist, Ric makes sure to meet his eyes as he replies, “So do I.” with utmost sincerity.

It’s one thing he does know about himself. Has always known, even with the missing years. Everything he does, Ric does wholeheartedly, and once he’s committed to any action, there’s no way in hell anyone can shake him off.

Slade flashes him a pleased smile, “ _Good_.”

In a matter of seconds, Ric finds their positions reversed, with Slade now sitting at the head of the bed and himself pulled over to lean across his lap. Even concealed, the bulge in Slade’s pants is impressive, and Ric finds himself salivating at the thought of what’s contained within.

“Well?” Slade says, after about a minute of him staring, “Do you expect me to do all the work for you?”

Ric doesn’t bother to verbally answer him. Instead, he responds with his mouth, nuzzling in against Slade’s crotch before setting his teeth to the zipper of his jeans and successfully drawing it downwards despite the slightly awkward angle.

The choice of action draws a pleased hum from Slade in response. “That’s it,” he says, “Good boy.” before settling the calloused palm of his hand against the crown of Ric’s head.

There’s no pressure, though. At least not yet. Though god, Ric wants there to be.

He gets Slade’s jeans open, the fly easily pulled apart before he uses his fingers to tug away the fabric of the simple black briefs he finds underneath. Then he’s finally face to face with Slade’s cock, and almost immediately Ric finds himself (a little embarrassingly) swallowing down an overwhelming amount of saliva.

It’s not huge. Not in a ridiculous way at least, but it is _big_ , long and thick. He thinks again of how Slade said only minutes ago that he likes to go hard, and exactly what that might mean for him in turn.

Well, he already knows he doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, however that came to be, and a good thing, too, when faced with a cock like this.

“ _Suck_.” Slade orders, and Ric shudders at the tone he uses, deep and effortlessly commanding. It hits parts of him he doesn’t know yet, or perhaps just doesn’t remember. He wants to jump to attention, to obey. Only he’s not the obedient type. At least not that much anyway.

“Ask me nicely first,” he says, skimming his fingers across the length of Slade’s cock, feeling the way those fingers tighten against his skull for it.

Slade isn’t offended, one more reason Ric thinks he has to like him.

“Sure thing, kid,” he says, chuckling, “ _Please._ ”

Grinning, Ric leans forward and parts his lips.

At first, he just licks his tongue over the head before sucking on it. Slade tastes primarily of sweat and musk, a flavour that’s not at all unpleasant, and Ric groans at the first shallow thrust Slade makes into his mouth, encouraging him to go further.

He doesn’t know how, or when, he got this oral fixation of his. If it’s something new to him, or something ‘Dick Grayson’ also had in his life. But the heavy weight of Slade’s cock in his mouth, forcing his jaws wide and open as he rolls his hips upward, makes Ric’s stomach tighten pleasantly, and without hesitation or asking for permission, he slips one hand over to grasp Slade’s hip, squeezing it tight to both convey his enjoyment and as a means of grounding himself.

A good thing, too, as Slade thrusts a little more forcefully the next time round, while pushing his head downwards at the same time.

In, out. In, out. Ric groans at the power of it; the way Slade’s hand never once lets up on the pressure gripping the curve of his skull, pulling him back and forth like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing more than a doll, a puppet, and his mouth is just something to be used. It’s an intoxicating feeling to be sure, and soon enough Ric gives up on trying to do anything else but take it, as with every passing second, Slade pushes in deeper, until the head of his cock is hitting the very back of his throat.

He can barely breath as he grips harder at Slade’s hip, feeling the way his lungs burn from the strain of trying to time air intake against the man’s withdrawals. His back also starts to ache from the position he’s in on the bed, and his jaw from being stretched, but strangely, that discomfort only adds to thrill and pleasure of it, particularly when Slade eventually yanks Ric back off of him with a groan of his own.

“You have a good mouth on you, boy,” he rumbles, voice dark and pleased as his hand slips round to cup Ric’s chin instead, “But tempting as it is, that’s not the way I want to end this.”

“Why?” Ric pants, licking his lips, “Too old to go more than one round with me?”

Slade chuckles, not the least bit offended, “More like I have a lot of ideas. Trust me, kid, more than one round is definitely on the cards tonight.”

Ric grins back up at him, before leaning forward to lick the tip of Slade’s cock again. “Well, what are you waiting for, then?”

“Good question.” Slade’s thumb digs deeper into his jaw before he abruptly lets Ric go. “Bedside table, there’s lube inside the top drawer. After that…” his single eye runs up and down him, “I think you’re wearing far too many clothes.”

That’s a sentiment Ric can definitely get behind.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, he opens the drawer Slade indicated to him, finding the bottle of lube and tossing it back to the man behind him. Then, standing up, eagerly begins the process of getting undressed.

Jacket and boots off first, then his shirt before he pops the fastening on his jeans. The release of pressure from around his own cock is a relief, if — at the same time — a stark reminder of just how turned on he already is. Together with his underwear, Ric shoves them down off his hips, then pulls his legs free and climbs back onto the bed.

Slade has barely moved the entire time, except of course to wrap one of his huge hands around his cock and stroke it lazily while he watched Ric strip. Now, though, he lets go in favour of reaching out to him and dragging the younger man right back into his lap again.

“That’s better.” he proclaims.

Ric pouts a little when he realises Slade himself is still almost fully dressed. “Aren’t you going to return the favour?”

“Maybe later,” Slade answers, then, smirk widening, adds, “If you’re good.”

If he’s good? Oh, Ric thinks, he can be far more than good. And, more surprisingly, he finds himself _wanting_ to be that for Slade. They barely know each other (which is part of what makes this encounter so illicit and thrilling), yet somehow, he’s already he’s hungry for his approval.

Which would be — will be — worrying if Ric was concerned with anything other than getting his rocks off with this tall, rugged stranger right now.

“I can be good,” he answers smartly, “But only if _you_ make it worthwhile.”

Slade answers that by slapping one of his broad palms against Ric’s ass. Hard and firm enough to make him jump to attention, as well as feel a new, embarrassing wave of lust roll through him.

Well, that’s new.

Smirking up at him, Slade seems fully aware of the impact he’s just had, and Ric finds himself blushing like some idiot virgin teenager under his gaze.

“Well?” he says, in an attempt to recover from it.

“You young ones really have no patience,” Slade rumbles back, before swatting his ass once more.

“Ah! Only… only because you old ones are so damn _slow_.”

He definitely did not say that to earn the third smack to his ass that follows.

“Brat.” Slade’s hand leaves him for a moment, then reappears with its fingers coated in lube. Dick shivers as they slide between his legs, then tease his hole. “I’ll show you slow if you keep mouthing off at me like that.”

“Promises, promises.”

Ric gasps as the first of Slade’s fingers breaches him. As it slides in deep, with barely any pause to let him adjust before pulling back out. And despite the man’s talk of patience, he’s quick to add a second, then a third finger to the mix. Working them in and out of Ric until he’s gasping and trembling above him, rocking his hips back and forth as he seeks to put his own hand to his long neglected erection.

Only Slade doesn’t allow it, smacking his fingers away before they can make contact. But that’s all right. Ric is more than happy to feel the touch of his roughened palm instead.

“Fuck,” Ric moans at the feeling, “Fuck. I want you to… I need you to…”

“To what?” Slade hums, lazily stroking his hand up and down.

“You know what.” he gasps.

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear you say it.”

Ric glares down at him, wondering how one man can manage to be so impossibly sexy and yet frustrating all at the same time.

“Fuck. Me.” he says, taking care to emphasise each word to make sure Slade gets it, even though he knows it’s far from necessary. A point that is proven when Slade suddenly pulls his fingers out of him and flips them both over in the bed.

God, he’s strong. Ric already knew that from their fight, and everything else that’s already happened this evening, but his heart beats all the quicker for being reminded of it now. None of the other partners he’s had since leaving the hospital could manhandle him this easily, after all, and the more he thinks about it, the more Ric is starting to regret that in hindsight.

He really should have been going for older, stronger men from the start.

Slade’s mouth seizes his in another aggressive kiss as he thinks about that, and Ric barely has a moment to enjoy it before he’s also feeling the blunt head of Slade’s cock pushing into him at the same time. Its progress hard and inexorable. And even with prior preparation paving the way for it, Ric still finds himself hissing against Slade’s lips at the size, as well as digging his fingertips deep into the other man’s shoulders.

“Like that, kid?” Slade asks him gruffly, once he’s fully seated, apparently not bothered at all by Ric’s nails very nearly drawing blood.

“I’d like it a lot better if you’d… oh,” he gasps, “ _Move_.”

Slade huffs a laugh, and before Ric can stop him he finds his hands pulled from Slade’s back, then pinned up above his head on the bed. A drawled “As you wish.” is his only warning for what comes next.

Slade _moves_. Oh god, does he move. Hard and powerful and _fast_. At the first thrust, it feels like the breath is being knocked out of him. The same goes for the second and third, and every other one that follows afterwards, too. Ric squirms against the hold on his wrists, even as he raises his legs to wrap them around Slade’s back, all the while moaning in encouragement.

Maybe it’s just the sheer size of his cock, but it feels like Slade is somehow managing to hit his prostate most — if not all — of the time with unerring accuracy. Not only that, but as the seconds turn into minutes, he shows no signs of stopping, or even slowing, the rhythm he began with. Not even when Ric, astounded by Slade’s show of stamina, and increasingly overloaded by sensation, comes for the first time with an elated shout.

“Slade,” he pants, overwhelmed by the intensity of it, “Slade…”

“Steady, kid,” Slade chuckles against his temple, “That was pretty, but you and me? We’re just getting started.”

“Just… just getting started?”

“Oh yes,” Slade’s mouth trails down the side of his face, moving to be better able to whisper his next words directly into his ear, “Gorgeous young thing like you? I’m planning on making this last _hours_.”

At first, Ric doesn’t believe him, but it doesn’t take very long for Slade to prove any doubt he has wrong.

The man is a machine. An absolute machine, with staying power that Ric is sure isn’t normal for a human, particularly one as old as he appears to be. Over the course of the next hour, Slade doesn’t stop. Not once. Not even to take a breather. The only change that comes in what they’re doing is the pace the man sets, faster, then slower and back again. Driving Ric steadily more and more crazy from sheer frustration as, far more quickly than normal, he finds himself getting hard once more.

And Slade doesn’t miss it. Of course he doesn’t. A brief pause is all Ric gets as, smirk widening on his face, Slade draws out of him again, prompting an unhappy cry to spring forth from his lips. It’s only for a second, though, as immediately after Ric finds himself flipped round onto his hands and knees, and there Slade is again, driving right back into him.

The bed is shaking under the power of his thrusts, Ric dazedly realises, as the sweat starts to run and drip down from his nose onto the bedding under him. Actually, it feels like the whole world is, himself included.

Hands free again, Ric manages to knot his fingers in the sheets in a desperate bid to ground himself. Which really doesn’t do much in the end, as one of Slade’s hands starts to roam his body, stroking over the muscles of his abdomen and tweaking his nipples, before sliding down to grasp and squeeze his already oversensitive cock.

The sound he makes then… Ric doesn’t want to acknowledge it as such, but it’s definitely a whine. High-pitched and needy. He can barely think through this anymore, barely reason. Not when Slade has completely overwhelmed him with sensation, and everything and anything has boiled down to those feelings. The heat on his skin, the ache in his hips and knees (as well as his lingering bruises), and the unrelenting drive of the cock inside him, as well as the roughened palm holding his own.

“Please,” he chokes at the feeling, “Please, I can’t…”

“Don’t worry, boy,” Slade rumbles against his ear, broad chest briefly pressed flush against Ric’s back in a way that lets him feel every one of the older man’s muscles, “I know _exactly_ what you need.”

Teeth scrape across his neck, before latching on and biting down. At the same time, Slade seems to thrust impossible harder, _deeper_ , and assaulted by three separate points of intense of stimulation at the same time, Ric is helpless to do anything but come again, emptying himself against Slade’s hand and further staining the sheet underneath him.

It’s the best orgasm of his life (that he can remember, at least), and perhaps unsurprisingly he very nearly passes out after, body shuddering and rocking with Slade’s continued thrusts into him and nothing else. How much longer it takes the older man to come, Ric isn’t sure, but when it does happen, he doesn’t register much beyond the bruising pressure of Slade’s fingers on his hips and a sudden wet heat inside him.

 _Condoms_ , he thinks dimly, _Should’ve remembered to use a condom._

And yet, stupid as it may have been to do this without one, Ric finds himself oddly unworried about any potential unwanted consequences from having unprotected sex with Slade. Call him naive, but he has the distinct sense that he’s not the kind of man who would be that irresponsible if there was anything to be worried about.

Wrapped up in enjoying the afterglow, Ric barely pays attention to Slade slipping out of him, nor of his brief departure from the bed. He comes back soon enough, anyway, armed with a warm, wet cloth that he carefully uses to start cleaning up the mess of lube and come that’s been left between Ric’s legs.

“Doing all right there, kid?”

The sound Ric makes in response is less than comprehensible, but also vaguely positive. It prompts a low, hearty chuckle from Slade, who is still gentle as he uses those powerful arms of his to roll Ric back over and pull him in against his chest when he’s finished tidying him up.

“I’ll take that to mean you approved, then.”

Ric nuzzles his face against him, enjoying the way Slade’s chest hair tickles at his nose. “Maybe,” he yawns, “It wasn’t bad.”

“‘Wasn’t bad’,” Slade snorts, and Ric yelps as a broad hand lightly slaps his ass again, “You really are a brat.”

“Can’t help it,” he grins, “It’s just the way I was made.”

“Trawling underground fight clubs and picking up older men, hell of a M.O.”

“Didn’t see you complaining,” he shrugs, “It gets me by.”

“I’ll bet. You’re good at what you do, kid. Gotta ask, where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“Had some private self-defence classes as a kid,” Ric replies, which is not exactly a lie so far as he knows. “My parents were acrobats, too; they taught me all they knew before they passed away. How about you? Where’d you learn your skills?”

“I was in the military.” Slade answers easily, but isn’t distracted enough by the turnaround to get thrown off his own line of questioning. “Ever think of doing more with your abilities than throwing around low-life chumps for their money?”

Ric blinks, “Like what?”

“I do some private contracting work these days. Bodyguard jobs and the like.” Slade’s hand strokes down his back, “Seems to me someone like you would be good at it.”

“Maybe,” Ric shrugs, taken off-guard a little by the suggestion, “But I’m not exactly fond of being tied down.”

Slade chuckles again, “That’s the beauty of freelance work, kid. You make your own hours, and it starts and ends when you want it to.”

“And your employers put up with that?”

He can feel Slade smirk against the short cropped hair on top of his head, “My reputation’s good enough that they’re just glad to have me while they can.”

“Don’t think that would work out so well for me,” Ric frowns, and abruptly winces as the scar on the side of his head twinges. “Thanks for the suggestion anyway. Though, I gotta say, I hope you don’t always end sex with job interviews.”

Slade laughs at the quip, before his hand smooths down lower on Ric’s back. “Maybe I’m just trying to make sure I have an excuse to see you again after this.”

On instinct, Ric arches back into the touch. “Trust me,” he says smiling, “After the sex we just had, you don’t need any other excuse.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Slade’s hand catches his chin, then lifts Ric’s face up so he can capture his lips in a kiss. Even now, hours after their fight, he still tastes of blood and sweat. “You feel ready for round two yet?”

Round… two? Ric feels dizzy for a moment. God, he really is insatiable.

“Maybe in a minute,” he answers, despite pressing readily back into the kiss, “You really are something else, old man.”

“Oh trust me, kid,” Slade says, already rolling him onto his back and settling between his legs despite what Ric just said, “You haven’t seen anything yet. Stick around, and I promise I’ll show you all that I’m capable of.”

Ric shudders delightedly at the thought, and reaching up, runs his own fingers through the soft length of Slade’s hair.

(Maybe he should grow his own back out again soon. It would feel nice gripped in those large, powerful fingers.)

“I think I can manage that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Slade: *sees amnesiac Dick left to fend for himself in Bludhaven by the Batfam* It's free real estate.


End file.
